I am uncertain whether you would take this letter favorably or not. But after all the other ones we have sent to each other the past year, I feel it is only fitting.

I want would like to meet you in person. Please. If you would oblige me, I will be awaiting at the edge of the rainforest, near the big boulder, ten minutes before curfew. Please come

I want to see you, I want to know who you are, I need to know you're real

I hope to see you.

Regards,LA

She was two minutes late, and he wasn't sure whether crying now would be a wise decision, or if he should wait it out and just cry later.

He decided on the latter, since the chances of her showing up were still fairly high, seeing that she had eight more minutes. Just eight more minutes. He could wait eight more minutes.

He had been waiting (wanting, craving, needing) to see her (touch her, hold her) ever since that one letter during the school term, in the middle of winter when that envelope signed with his name drop by his breakfast plate, and the sight of it had warmed something inside him that made him forget what 'cold' even meant.

He'd been waiting a year, so what was eight more minutes?

Just eight more minutes.

The night breeze nipped at his exposed wrists, and he pulled down his sweater sleeves (it was somewhat ridiculous how even quicker he got cold these days; was it because of all the height he'd gained?), cupping his hands in front of his mouth and blowing some warmth into them.

Eight more minutes in the cold was nothing, will be nothing, once he finally laid eyes on her. Once he knew she really was real, and not just a highly complex figment of his imagination, or not just someone pretending.

Because, finally, he had someone who understood him, had someone whom he could actually talk to without feeling like he was awkward and messing it all up, had someone who he could actually consider a true friend, an admirer. Even though the only things he had that could actually prove her reality were the letters.

But that was enough; it had to be enough.

(It wasn't enough.)

If she didn't show up in the next eight- no, seven minutes, then he could at least be able to immerse himself further into the thought that someone really, truly, honestly liked him, for everything he was.

(Except about the dresses; that's the only thing he couldn't ever possibly bear to tell her about.)

Because he still had his doubts that she didn't really like him, because who would like someone through reading their words, alone, right?

(He was such a hypocrite.)

« Last Edit: 12/23/2014 at 14:58 by L Azuriah »

THE CONSEQUENCE IS IF I LEAVE I'M ALONEBUT WHAT'S THE DIFFERENCEWHEN YOU BEG FOR LOVE?

He was absolutely the last person she wanted to see. For a year, she’d painstakingly avoided him, for she knew that if she saw him, even just in passing, she’d probably break. At this point, she’d forgotten what possessed her to even send a letter to him last summer in the first place. At that time, even when things had seemed to be at the worst point, they’d been relatively simple. When she thought about it, which was more often than she liked, she figured that perhaps the letters had been some sort of plot to prove that L Azuriah was indeed the terrible monster she’d always assumed him to be. After that one day in early December, the last perfect day of her life, she needed to be reminded of what a miserable freak show her hero was.

It’d all backfired.

For one, Evelyn had no faith that he’d even write her back. If he hadn’t, things would have been so much better. Now they’d been going back and forth for an entire year.

Every single time she’d received a letter, she’d hold it in her hands and wonder if it wouldn’t be better for them both if she simply burnt the thing and stopped replying entirely. It wasn’t as if they were anymore than strangers still. Even after all these letters, he didn’t seem to know it was her, no matter how obvious she made it. For a white lie, it had gotten entirely out of hand.

Yet, she kept every single one. Even if she wasn’t the person they were addressed to, she cherished them, if only secretly. No one else wrote her letters, not anymore.

Although she’d written to America months ago inquiring about the location of her Grandfather, there had been no reply. Without her one family member, she’d run out of funds. Without funds, she’d had to get a job and lost her freedom in school.

The only thing that stayed constant were L’s stupid, jaded letters.

Even when her inkwell was so dry she’d barely been able to pen words, she’d written back to him. Although she’d crafted lies he’d like, she took some interest in the things he said, specifically regarding the faerie tales.

Over a year later, she couldn’t get his voice out of her head, crafting the tale of Hades and Persephone into a daydream.

It would have been better to forget him. That’s all she wanted. To do that, she’d have to meet him. To come clean. She’d have to tell him to his face that she didn’t feel a single thing towards him, and that all the things she’d written were her own form of sick vengeance, and he should have expected as much.

She’d have to say those things even if she no longer believed them.

With cold determination, she stalked into the woods, holding what was probably meant to be L’s final letter in her hand. As she didn’t really plan for this to take more than an hour, she hadn’t bothered to put on much more than a blouse and shorts, but regretted it a few minutes after sunset. He wanted to meet by a boulder? What boulder?

Darkness came within a few minutes, and the color drained from the sky in a wash of purple streaks. In the last blue light of the day, Evelyn squinted at the words across the letter, trying to force herself to give up. Completely distracted, she didn’t even notice there was anyone near her until she walked straight into them.

Her head had landed straight into a collarbone, along with her hands, still clutching the paper between her face and this person’s chest. Out of sheer embarrassment, she just wanted to stay there for a minute.

(Now that she thought about it, wasn’t this how she’d met L in the first place?)

“Sorry.” she muttered instinctively as she took a step back. Hopefully this person would just let her go home with an apology. She couldn’t find him. That was it. No more letters. No more hope. (For what?)

Not the meeting-her part - the meeting-her-in-the-darkness-of-the-forest part. He couldn't fathom what made him write this place for their rendezvous. It was simply the first thing that came to his mind. An impulse. This whole idea was an impulse.

He should have known better than to listen to impulse. Nothing good came from it. Like dying his hair blond (badly, at that).

L reached up, absently, and ran his fingers through his hair, tugging at it every so often, as if checking if it was all still there, if it was a terribly-Transfigurated blond or his natural light brown.

He should have learned his lesson from that. Should not have sent that letter requesting to meet up with her. Should not have sent that letter that first week of school in the first place. Should not have bothered to find her.

(Should not have made his hair blond.)

Perhaps he should leave now. It's almost six minutes to curfew, after all, and the evening was getting colder and colder, darker and darker. He'd even heard there were wild (he shuddered at the thought) animals in the forest, as well.

It's just six more minutes, though, right? There was still a chance she would come.

Just six more-

He flinched. Something had bumped into him.

Dear Merlin, he hoped it wasn't one those creatures in the forest-

“Sorry.”

-oh. It was a person. Great.

Wait, a person?

He swallowed, and tipped his head down, fingers tugging at the sleeve of his sweater. Could it be...?

"Miss-"

L stared.

"-Takamura..." he finished, a hint of something bitter (disappointment?) flooding his tastebuds and staining his words. "Ah, it's quite alright."

He tensed, then, remembering just who exactly this girl was.

"Ah, wh-what brings you here at this time of night?" he dared to ask, out of politeness. She may hate him, and there was a high probability she was going to punch him soon, but hopefully, being polite to her now would at least postpone that. He wouldn't want to meet Miss PE with a black eye.

THE CONSEQUENCE IS IF I LEAVE I'M ALONEBUT WHAT'S THE DIFFERENCEWHEN YOU BEG FOR LOVE?

There was only one person this could be, and Evelyn had realized it before his lips parted. Despite his height, no other imbecile would be standing out in the forest minutes before curfew. She couldn’t believe that. Still, this was far too embarrassing. The plan had been to come here and throw the letter at his feet, confess, and walk away with no apologies. No awkward silences. No hiding any truths. After all, even if she felt guilty for leading him to believe she was someone else for an entire year, didn’t he deserve it?

"Miss-"

That voice wasn’t L’s though, was it? It was smoother, and darker, and perhaps just a bit hopeful. Of course, she hadn’t actually heard his voice in over a year, so how could she know if it had changed? People changed, and the words they uttered weren’t always the same as the ones etched on her heart, right?

"-Takamura..."

But no, there was the resentment. No one else spoke her name with such disdain. Evelyn was a bit taken aback by it, as she’d secretly hoped he’d decoded her letters and figured out who’d been sending them. Wasn’t he supposed to be smart?

More than that, she’d hoped he’d known and still replied to her, but no. They were the same as ever, apparently.

“"Ah, wh-what brings you here at this time of night?"

It was then Evelyn brought her eyes up from the spot on the ground they’d fixated upon. No words formed on her lips, as her teeth were busy tugging them out of nervousness. In a year, her hair had grown longer, and as she’d taken to wearing it up recently, hung in loose curls around her face, swirling down her cheeks and down her neck to her shoulder blades. It still seemed to want to stick to her. In her eyes, there was tears and starlight.

“I.”

The single word was so soft, she wasn’t quite sure whether or not she’d uttered it. Perhaps this was all a stupid, terrible dream.

What could she even say? Sorry didn’t seem to cut it. Initially, she’d planned to run away, but she’d never really wanted to. Not that summer two years ago, and not now. What had this boy even done to her? Sure he’d said words, but had he ever been anything other than civil to her? It was sticks and stones. In a way she wanted to thank him for being so mean to her, as if it weren’t for him, she wouldn’t have developed such a tough skin, and without that skin, she wouldn’t still be there.

He’d saved her so many times, and she’d just tortured him endlessly.

What in the world could she do to apologize for that?

For a minute, she looked at him, as hard as it was in the fading light. It was ridiculous how tall he’d gotten, especially since she’d always been just a tiny bit above him. It was almost as if she’d met a stranger.

Also, what was he thinking when he transfigured his hair? It looked terrible. If they had been on better terms, she would have jumped to try and pat it, or might have laughed, but she did neither. Even if she’d sent him letters every week, they weren’t on anything close to good terms.

His eyes too- she still felt like they were cutting into her, and she still remembered them as they scanned along the pages of a book of mythology, and how she’d watched them until she’d fallen asleep.

“I wanted to meet you, too.” she finally muttered as she sheepishly held forth the piece of paper in one hand. It had been folded carefully into quadrants, but it was, undoubtedly, L’s last letter.

He'd forgotten how different his voice was now. It probably sounded quite odd, especially since... Actually, now that he thought about it, he hadn't really seen her all that much in classes last term. Then again, he wasn't exactly all there last term, either; too immersed in both analyzing the meaning behind his father's poems and sharing correspondence with Miss PE.

Speaking of, she still had nearly five minutes left, before curfew came and he'd have to go.

(If push came to shove, though, he would still wait for her even after curfew came and went. Not that he'd actually admit that. Maybe.)

"Ah-"

He saw her moving her lips, so he closed his mouth and waited for her to speak up. It was for the better, he supposed. Asking after the possibility of her seeing Miss PE nearby would probably not end well. What if they were friends?

Oh Merlin, what if Evelyn Takamura and Miss PE were friends?

L pressed his lips together, and swallowed. If she and Miss PE were friends, there was a possibility that she had seen their letters. Which was quite embarrassing and personal, but there was something even worse about this possibility; if she and Miss PE were friends, didn't friends also usually go in place of their friend if they were going to turn someone down?

What if Takamura was here to relay Miss PE's message of rejecting him?

L bit his lip. He ducked his head, trying to push down the rising sensation of panic, anxiety, and great despair in his chest. He pulled down the sleeves of his sweater; he felt even colder all of a sudden.

And he waited.

...He looked up, half-scared, half-questioning. It would be a simple message along the lines of 'Sorry, I don't like you that way' or something, yes? Why was it taking so long, then?

She was staring at him. At his... hair?

Oh gods, he thought he'd gotten all the blondness off! He hadn't managed to check the mirror yet, surprisingly enough. (He was quite certain that his attire was proper and unwrinkled enough for the rendezvous, though.) Was he really that terrible at Transfiguration?

The last time he'd checked there were streaks of blue and purple in his hair, along with the dirty blond tips and the dark brown roots. A terrible sight, it was. Perhaps that was what Takamura was seeing right now? Oh gods, he'd been about to meet Miss PE looking like this!

He's grateful, just for this instance, that Takamura came in Miss PE's place instead.

“I wanted to meet you, too.”

...What?

L blinked. "Pardon?"

She was holding out something in her hands. It looked like a piece of paper. A... familiar... piece of... paper...

He stared at the letter in her hands in shock.

So she and Miss PE were friends! And she came here to tell her Miss PE was rejecting him!

But wait. She'd said something - something odd.

(“I wanted to meet you, too.”)

What did she mean, 'too'? And 'meet'? They have already met. The only person he could think of uttering the words 'meet' to, and of wanting to meet recently, was Miss PE...

Oh.

L was suddenly grateful he told her they would meet by the big boulder, as he felt himself stagger backwards against it, distancing himself from the letter. And her.

Her. Miss PE. Takamura was Miss PE.

"You..." he whispered, his own voice not brave enough to say it louder, else it might actually be real.

He had been writing to Evelyn Takamura for a year. He had been like friends with Evelyn Takamura for almost a year. He had been pining for Evelyn Takamura for practically a year.

He was smart enough to figure that out.

(Now, at least.)

He swallowed down the feeling in his throat, blinking back the heat in his eyes. He would not get emotional over this. Not yet. He needed answers, first.

"Why?" he asked, voice soft and in denial, raising his head enough to look at her eyes, her face, her hair (still messy, still pretty, Merlin knows how), her lips, her fingers, her eyes. All lies.

It was all a lie.

"Why would you do such a thing? What have I-" He clamped his mouth shut. He knew what he did. He put his foot in his mouth every time they spoke to each other, completely unable to speak normally and properly with her, for some reason. (A reason he knows all too well, now.)

"Why?" he repeated, instead, and ducked his head again. He couldn't understand.

Why would you make me fall for you? he wanted to ask. Why? Why?

« Last Edit: 12/28/2014 at 11:09 by L Azuriah »

IMAGINE LIVING LIKE A KING SOMEDAY,A SINGLE NIGHT WITHOUTA GHOST IN THE WALLS

The single syllable was carried on an impossibly heavy wave of truth, although it was only half-formed. After all this time, he’d only now put it together, and Evelyn could sense his horror in the way he stumbled backwards. Out of the infinite amount of possibilities, he’d probably never considered this as an ultimatum. She was just that far below him. If only she could recall his face from two years prior, when he’d seen her in the moonlight. If only she could find that expression in her memory, the one of pure, unbridled disgust.

But she couldn’t. Even though it’d seemed so important then, it’d been erased by six hundred days of shy meetings and letters. Over time, she’d forgiven him, even if she’d never admitted it. That night in the forest was nothing more than a forgotten memory.

Like so many grains of sand on a shoreline, all those terrible things had been washed away.

But it seemed like he still felt the same way. As always, he was a rock while she was the sea.

What could she possibly do about that?

Even though it seemed as if he’d changed in appearance, his heart wasn’t swayed in the slightest. Why should it be? Even though she’d meant every single thing in her letters- she’d even gone so far to learn a smattering of German and Latin just to make her writings more plausible- his affections were not for her, but for a completely fictional character. At first, she’d meant for this to be some sort of prank, or at least she did halfway, but over time her replies grew genuine, while his had only grown more and more misdirected.

"Why would you do such a thing? What have I-"

When his questions finally came pouring fourth, her face broke into pieces in the same fashion it had two years prior- in the same, pinkish bloom as it had in December. With only the tiniest of gasps, rivulets of saltwater gushed down her pale cheeks, taking strands of hair hostage and plastering them to her cheeks.

"Why?"

Evelyn choked on her words. Unable to look at him, she looked towards the paper in her hand instead, thinking about the tiny shred of hope she’d held in her heart that things wouldn’t come to this.

“Because.” she coughed finally, in a half-sob. Somewhere in the flux of emotions, she’d changed over to her native tongue. Whether it was a sub-conscious defense or a subtle way to hope the boy would treat her better, even she couldn’t tell.

After staring at the words on the paper through blurred droplets, the girl’s eyes came back to rest on the boy’s. Her face, normally cool and mocking, had completely synched with her emotions, and presented itself as a perfect, honest storm.

“Because it wasn’t a lie.”

There was no going back. There was no way to run away, as they had before. This was the conversation they had to have, for better or for worse.

well i have brittle bones it seemsI BITE MY TONGUE AND torch MY DREAMS

He didn't want to look at her. Looking and seeing would once again reiterate the fact that she'd been deceiving him, all this time. Got him right where he was soft and made him expose his vulnerabilities.

In the relative silence around them, he heard a tiny sound come from her direction, and, against his better judgment, he looked up at her. His eyes widened in horror.

She was crying.

His breath seemed to stop short midway up his throat, and he choked, hands coming up to fiddle with his bowtie as his eyes kept their gaze on her face, her cheeks, her hair, her tears -

Dear Merlin, it was like he'd gone back to that one day in December, when they'd had a brief repose. When they'd sat on a bench, side by side, her head on his shoulder, and her hair against his cheek, as he read her Greek mythology in Japanese.

Except this time, his chest didn't feel like it would bruise from how much his heart seem to beat against his ribcage.

No. This time, his chest felt like something was sitting on it, and at the same time squeezing his lungs inside a fist. He felt like he couldn't intake as much air as the human body needed. He felt like he was drowning, and his hand was reaching for the surface. But all it could feel was the cold.

Was this what heartbreak felt like? Gods, he hated it.

“Because.”

Hearing her speak in her native tongue made him wince. He looked away, eyes darting about the forest - anywhere but her. He'd made the mistake of looking at her, but he wouldn't do that again. Especially now that she was crying.

(He still remembered the warmth and softness of her skin when he'd wiped her tear away.)

“Because it wasn’t a lie.”

He looked at her again. (He mentally cursed himself for that.)

It wasn't... a lie? What did that mean?

All her letters - they weren't lies?

Obviously, their correspondence wasn't a lie. He had kept all her letters; he had solid proof it was all real.

Then, what did she mean? Her deception wasn't a lie? Her lies weren't lies?

He didn't understand. What was she trying to say?

L took a deep breath, and tugged at his hair, averting his eyes. Her words confused him, so he spoke the only words he knew for a fact were clear-cut.

"But... you hate me."

It was the only thing he could understand. It was the only clear, solid fact about their relationship.

(He called her (he winced at the memory) 'mudblood.' And insulted her cat. And called her 'mudblood' again. And -)

In summation, he said some mean things to her. Why wouldn't she hate him? He deserved her bullying, really. Maybe not that snowball, that one time. He hadn't done anything to her that day - but then again, he probably had it coming. So, in the end, the snowball was warranted.

"I called you something unforgivable. More than once! I was mean to you! Granted, I didn't really mean to be; it just - happened. But I was still mean to you!"

As he spoke, he'd straightened up, and kept tugging at his hair, tugging at his bowtie, tugging at his sweater sleeves - trying to find answers on his person. He stopped when he realized he was pacing in front of the boulder, and realized, as well, that he was looking at the answers in the wrong place. For they weren't in his memories and his experiences - that was only half. The other half, the missing piece, was her.

L glanced back at her, and stepped forward so they were only an arm's length apart. He vaguely registered that he'd definitely gotten taller the past few months, years. He had to look down to gaze at her face now. Much like two Decembers ago.

"I don't understand," he said, his grey-blue eyes wide and sad and confused and pleading.

"What part of - everything, which part wasn't a lie?"

IMAGINE LIVING LIKE A KING SOMEDAY,A SINGLE NIGHT WITHOUTA GHOST IN THE WALLS

It just wasn’t that simple. Didn’t this boy realize that emotions filled a much larger void? Didn’t he realize that the borders of a rainbow weren’t the clean cut lines of a painting, but rather blurred when you squinted at them? Perhaps she’d felt as if she’d hated him once, but that single emotion had carried her in rolling waves through a sea of other events, and washed her ashore in this moment. Perhaps she did hate him, but she hated everything, if it came down to it. Out of all the crappy things, he was the softest and sweetest person she’d ever met, even if he was a complete and total imbecile.

"I called you something unforgivable. More than once! I was mean to you! Granted, I didn't really mean to be; it just - happened. But I was still mean to you!"

And he was out with it.

The tears came freely now, tiny sobs in the place of words. All the while she watched as he paced, as he faltered between being able and unable to look her way. With her fingers, she tried to wipe some of the salty water from her cheeks, but her skin was no cloth, and the attempt proved futile.

But he was out with it.

He hadn’t meant to be mean- he was just programmed by some sort of unfair system in order to be that way. In fact he was so moronic he had probably absorbed and regurtated the faulty, furious nonsense of the system far more violently than any of the true elitists had. But his meanness was petty, like a small dog’s. Perhaps, without his training, his unkind words and all the practice bouts she’d had with him, she wouldn’t have survived this far. She’d tasted cruelties far beyond his, and by no means when faced with stick and stones did his words hurt her any longer.

When he finally stopped and walked forward, she felt as if maybe he’d gotten it. They weren’t the same kids who’d met in the forest and fought in a cramped train cabin. There were infinite minutes between them, laced into the fabric of time tucked between the space separating mere inches.

"I don't understand,"

It was odd looking up at him, but she’d gotten used to it when she was tucked in his shoulder for those scare hours in December. The sky and trees grew dim as she looked at him, but whether that was the fault of the waning sunlight, her tears, or the sad, crystalline nature of his eyes she couldn’t say.

"What part of - everything, which part wasn't a lie?"

Unable to stop crying, and uncaring of any lingering consequences, as she couldn’t stand the awkward silences and sly hiding of truths any longer, she closed the gap between them and wrapped her arms around him, as she’d always meant to. Almost as she’d had that first night. Almost as she had that December.

Somewhere, buried against his chest, she spoke, her voice tired and muffled.

“Why… are you so stupid?” she let out a tiny gasp, somewhere between a giggle and a sob, as if she knew she couldn’t have expected much more.

“I wanted to meet you here. I don't care that you were mean anymore. You're not. I waited for your letters every day. I didn’t lie in any of them. Except about who I was. I thought- … I thought if you knew it was me, you wouldn’t answer. So I used a pen name. I just…”

L tensed, stilling as if he'd locked gazes with Medusa, though his eyes were wide and staring at the space above Takamura's head. Takamura, who had her arms around him, hugging him.

A scream of surprise tried to escape up his throat - but he swallowed it down, afraid she'd take it the wrong way. Because, though he wasn't all that fond of being touched in the slightest, her embrace was warm and already familiar. Somehow.

Instead, he squeaked.

Heat flooded through the tips of his ears, but he attempted to will it away (and failed).

Why was she hugging him? The first time had been an accident, and the second was because she'd needed comfort. But this time was purely intentional, it seemed, and, though she was crying, he was smart enough to realize she wasn't hugging him for comfort, like that December.

So, why was she hugging him?

"U-Um..."

“Why… are you so stupid?”

He cringed a bit, frowning. He wasn't stupid. He was quite smart, actually. Granted, he may not be knowledgeable about certain things, but so was every other human. Complete knowledge wasn't exactly attainable - as far as he knew.

However, there was something in her words, her tone, that made it seem... unoffensive. A hint of... laughter? Was she making a joke? Or was she saying it not-so-seriously? Or was she perhaps amused at his supposed stupidity?

She never failed to confuse him, apparently.

“I wanted to meet you here. I don't care that you were mean anymore. You're not. I waited for your letters every day. I didn’t lie in any of them. Except about who I was. I thought- … I thought if you knew it was me, you wouldn’t answer. So I used a pen name.”

Oh.

That was... not confusing, actually.

She'd forgiven him, so she'd tried corresponding with him, sincerely. Except, because she knew he still thought she hated him, she used a pseudonym instead, to get him to reply.

The skies and trees surrounding them seemed to blur, to fade into the background, as he glanced down at the top of her head. Everything was clearer now. Except for one thing...

Why would she do that?

“I just…”

Just? Was she going to tell him the reason, the last piece of the puzzle? Tentatively, shakily, he placed his hands on her shoulders blades, as an attempt to urge her on.

“Just had to see you.”

He wanted to ask why. Why? Why do all this? Feelings were so fickle, so complicated, and he'd only started understanding the basics of it the past few months.

What feelings did she have for him to make her do all this?

A few came to mind, but there was one that especially stood out, and made his blush resurface.

He couldn't be sure if he was correct, though. He needed to be sure...

L cleared his throat, the sensation of the prolonged hug starting to overwhelm his thoughts, his senses. He carefully moved his hands up to her shoulders to gently push her away enough, and meet her eyes again.

His blush spread down the back of his neck. He hoped she wouldn't notice.

"Ano," he said, then shook his head and reverted to English. "Ah. Well. I..."

He withdrew his hands, and shakily fiddled with his bowtie, not noticing how lopsided it was getting. He kept his gaze on her.

"This is all... quite confusing. So, I propose we... start again?" He took a deep breath and held his hand out for her to shake.

"My name is L Azuriah. When I'm especially nervous or startled, I have a tendency to put my foot in my mouth, or say mean or rude things. I... I find you pretty and confusing."

Dear Merlin, he really hoped his blush wasn't noticeable.

"Which is- which is why I would like to, ah, get to know you better."

His outstretched hand started to tremble.

"Would you, ah..." He shifted his weight from foot to foot, and finally averted his gaze to the ground, ducking his head a bit to try and hide the bright redness of his face. He couldn't believe he was going to say this, but to clear all his confusion, it was the only solution he could think of. A bit rushed, he said,

"Would you be amenable with going with me on the first Hogsmeade weekend of the term?"

« Last Edit: 12/30/2014 at 14:30 by L Azuriah »

AND I BELIEVE THAT HALF THE TIMEI AM A WOLF AMONG THE SHEEP,GNAWING AT THE WOOL OVER MY EYES

Even though there was no other place she felt comfortable in the world, the familiarity of the fabric of the boy’s shirt was absolutely stunning. This was perhaps the only place she’d ever slept without a care in the world, but at that moment, she felt nervous for the first time in ages. There was some sort of tenseness that she hadn’t accounted for before, and when before she hadn’t much cared to dwell on the consequences of her actions, now they plagued her thoughts. What if this was a terrible mistake? What would she do if he walked away? She’d have to let him go then, she was sure of it. Just as she thought this, he placed his hands on her shoulders, and she was sure he’d push her to the ground. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d hit the mud on his account.

"Ano,"

Without meaning to, she cracked an amused grin at his nervous, ill-placed filler. It was just like him.

"Ah. Well. I..."

Her eyes moved from his, to his hands which were preoccupied with his ever-present bowtie, and back again. Her face was completely blank, as she truly had no inkling as to what nonsense might spew from his mouth.

"This is all... quite confusing. So, I propose we... start again?"What exactly did that even mean?

"My name is L Azuriah. When I'm especially nervous or startled, I have a tendency to put my foot in my mouth, or say mean or rude things. I... I find you pretty and confusing."

For a few seconds, Evelyn was absolutely startled, as it seemed as if he was sincere in his desire to go back and pretend as if they’d never known each other at all. It was one of the stupidest offers anyone had ever proposed to her, and she knew she had to take it.

The dimples at the edge of her lips slid into a full smile, clear, and untainted with fear or mockery.

"Would you, ah... Would you be amenable with going with me on the first Hogsmeade weekend of the term?"

With undue enthusiasm, the girl rushed forward, only to stop short to take the boy’s hand in both of hers. This was idiotic. Idiotic and perfect.

“Of course!” she replied, the leftover tears still pooled in her eyes sparkling in the night’s blue light. “I mean. Yes…Let’s go…together.”

Perhaps their faces matched in hue, as they’d found each another anew. Two pieces of the same puzzle, reunited, at last.

well i have brittle bones it seemsI BITE MY TONGUE AND torch MY DREAMS